The pot on the fiery stove bubbles and churns Steam leaves the boiling bowl softly Contrary to the raging lake inside Eventually ingredients rise
By A. D. Myers6 months ago in Poets
At two, Bartholomew’s bakery opens With his burly hands he motions His innumerable patrons inside Many thus far have since complied
It happened on a dark and chilly night Suddenly awoken from my sleep Dreaming about another life Breathlessly, I lay on my bed
